


What Happened at Christmas

by Miss_Ash



Series: What Happened at Wardlow [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Crack, and a cat, because it's christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Ash/pseuds/Miss_Ash
Summary: The cat, Phryne soon discovered, was a nightmare.A follow up to 'What Happened at Wardlow', Phryne has a little chat to the newest member of her household.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Series: What Happened at Wardlow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579453
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	What Happened at Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas Eve, everyone!
> 
> I have not done nearly as much writing in recent weeks as I wish I had - but I'm going to blame that entirely on relocating to the opposite side of the globe. Hopefully in 2020 I'll get back in my groove (there is A WHOLE ASS MOVIE coming to inspire me after all) but until then, please accept this humble offering of a little addition to my preexisting cat fluff. 
> 
> Shout out to my fellow pirate, Scruggzi, for a) reading this over and assuring me it did not suck, and b) being a doll about the fact I accidentally stole her name for Phryne's cat. Her catfic is far superior, do read it if you haven't already. 
> 
> Have a wonderful Christmas everyone, and here's to a phrack-filled New Year!

The cat, Phryne soon discovered, was a nightmare. 

This was not something she would ever say to Jane, nor a feeling she hoped would last, but the fact of the matter was that Cleo (the naming argument – long winded as it had been – had eventually whittled them down to three influential women, but since Joan had been deemed too boring and Florence didn’t seem fitting for a being with such sharp claws, Queen of the Nile it had been) simply did not seem to like her. 

If one were to ask Phryne, this was not for any lack of trying on her part. She had, in fact, tried perhaps more than anyone else in the household – sneaking her all the best treats in attempted bribery despite Jane’s warnings that they weren’t healthy, staunchly refusing to be angered when she had destroyed the parlour curtains, and even sitting patiently as the thing had clawed her thighs bloody trying to get comfortable before ultimately deciding that her lap wasn’t suitable after all.

Honestly, the patience she had displayed over the last three days was astounding – and yet all the reward she got was being hissed at for entering rooms in her own house. She was most definitely starting to wonder as to the appeal of the creature.

What annoyed her most, of course, was the Jack of it all. Cleo, for some reason that was thoroughly lost on her, adored Jack more than anyone else. She seemed to have developed a supernatural sense for his arrival – appearing as if out of thin air to purr at him until, soft-hearted as he was, he picked her up and his attention was lost to petting her. 

It made getting alone time – hard enough as it had been with the constant comings and goings of her household preparing for Christmas – suddenly inordinately difficult. 

By the time night had fallen on Christmas Eve, Phryne found herself praying for a murder if only to get her out of the house and away from the blasted cat. 

Alas, Melbourne’s criminal population seemed sadly too involved in their own Christmases to oblige and – as she sat with her nightcap in the parlour, staring the feline down across the room as if it were her personal fault she was drinking alone – Phryne started to resign herself to the fact that the world (and the cat) was just determined to come between her and the Inspector. 

Some Christmas that made it. 

“It’s your fault,” she told the cat as she poured herself a second whiskey, glaring at where she sat primly on the window seat. (Phryne had been sitting there earlier, until Cleo had decided she quite liked the view and come to try and edge her off, the standoff continuing on until the cat had stretched out and dug in her claws – at which point Phryne had given up if only in deference to her trousers, which she happened to be rather fond of). “We were right in the middle of something on my birthday, you know, and you interrupted it with all your foolish antics.”

Cleo stared up at her, unblinking, and her nonchalance seemed only to make Phryne crosser. 

“Do you know he couldn’t even kiss me properly after you scratched him?” she huffed. “The blasted gash was too painful. If that scars I’ll turn you into gloves, you know, and tell Jane you ran off into the night and never came back.”

Phryne glared at her, but the cat remained unphased, and she rolled her eyes and strode back to the fireplace, leaning herself up against it. 

“Not that it would matter, I suppose,” she continued – more to herself than the cat this time. “I mean… it wouldn’t change anything, of course, it would just… be a shame. It’s such a handsome face, you really should have thought of that before you went and scratched it.”

The last she directed back in the feline’s direction, and Cleo blinked once, staring back at her calmly. 

“He’s not kissed me since, either,” Phryne said then, much quieter, attention turning back to her whiskey. “You keep getting in the way of that, too.”

At this, Cleo finally sprung up, trotting across to Phryne and rubbing herself up against her legs with a soft meow. 

“Yes, precisely like that,” Phryne grumbled, staring down at her indignantly. “I’m busy trying to make romantic overtures but you’re not making it easy for me to get my Antony,  _ Cleopatra _ .”

At this she only purred, headbutting Phryne’s leg until she sighed, rolled her eyes, and deposited her whiskey on the mantelpiece, leaning down to scoop the feline off the floor and into her arms. 

“Oh, so now you like me, do you?” she asked as the cat nestled into her arms and continued to purr, front paws on her chest, looking up at her with big blue eyes. “Well I suppose it’s an improvement on shredding my lace curtains.”

They stood in near silence, then, for several minutes, nothing but the gentle hum of purring to break it, Phryne’s eyes falling closed as she began to stroke the thing absentmindedly. It was soft, at least, she thought – and much more likeable when its claws weren’t digging into her flesh.

“I haven’t told him that I love him yet, Cleo,” Phryne said finally, breaking through the quiet of their sudden truce, the words hushed but weighted. “I know it’s a foolish thing to worry about, but he said it and then Hugh interrupted before I got around to responding properly and… well, I’d just like to make sure he knows.” 

The cat started to shift in her arms, and Phryne opened her eyes again to look down at her with false sternness. “Do you think you can at least give us the space so I can do that?”

“I don’t know, I’d say she facilitated it quite well.” 

Phryne’s head snapped up, eyes locking with Jack’s where he stood at the parlour door, hat still in hand.

“Mr. Butler let me in through the kitchen,” he explained, tone somewhere between stunned and amused. “I thought if I came via the cat this time she might leave me alone for a moment or two afterwards. Or leave us alone, rather,” he added, clearing his throat.

“Jack,” was all Phryne managed in response, still seemingly too shocked by his sudden appearance. In her arms, Cleo fidgeted, twisting around further from what was now an uncomfortably tight hold, and freeing herself. She leapt to the floor and straight over to Jack, weaving between his legs and purring loudly. 

Jack rolled his eyes, but bent down to stroke her nevertheless, gaze flicking between her and Phryne as he scratched her ears. 

“What did you do to her, Cleo?” he asked the cat with a smirk. “She was all but ready to skin you this afternoon.”

“The possibility is still up for debate,” Phryne chimed in, shaking her head and seemingly coming to. “Jack, what are you doing here? It’s late.”

Jack gave the cat a final stroke then straightened, nodding. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Phryne started, crossing towards him but stopping as she reached Cleo – now stretching herself out on the rug between them like a barricade. “No, no, I don’t mean – you know you’re always… what  _ are _ you doing here, though?”

Jack’s mouth lifted a little at the corners, a hint of playfulness in it that belied the seriousness of his expression. 

“Well,” he stuck his hands into his pockets. “It just occurred to me that between cats and Jane and your Aunt it might… it might be a little easier to give you your Christmas present now.” 

Phryne’s expression turned wicked, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. “Oh really? And what was my Christmas present?”

“Well…” He withdrew one hand from his pocket, and with it a small, neatly wrapped oblong box which he placed on top of the piano. “It’s only small, but I saw it and thought of you.”

Phryne tilted her head at it, clearly now genuinely intrigued, and carefully stepped around the languishing cat to stand by the piano, eyeing the box carefully. 

“What is it?” she asked, gaze flitting from Jack to the box and back again.

“I believe that’s what the opening portion of gift-giving is meant to be for,” he replied, and she shot him a glare before picking it up with careful fingers and starting to unwrap. 

Beneath the paper was a smart black leather box, which she opened to reveal a small folded knife – the handle made of smooth dark wood with a silver inlay in the shape of a swallow. 

She let out a breath, removing the knife from the case and placing it on the piano so her hands were free to unfold the blade. When she did she saw the same swallow had been engraved there as well.

“Jack, it’s…” 

“I know you already have plenty,” he cut in, holding up a hand, “but I just thought – ”

“It’s gorgeous,” she smiled. “I love it, Jack, thank you.”

“Well,” he smiled back, shrugging. “I thought perhaps if you were really serious about skinning the cat…”

Phryne chuckled. “I don’t know… she might be growing on me.” She looked down to where Cleo was now fast asleep on the rug – no longer an interruption and infinitely more sweet when unconscious – and looked up again to find Jack a step closer, gaze intense.

“In which case, may I give you your other present?”

Phryne’s own gaze dropped to Jack’s mouth and flitted back up again, heart rate quickening. “By all means, Inspector.”

With that he took the knife gently from her fingers, placing it back in the box before snaking a hand around her waist and pulling her into him. 

“Well first you'll have to tell me, Miss Fisher,” he breathed, the hand not holding her coming to rest against her cheek. “Should I be jealous that you confessed your feelings for me to the cat first?”

Her lips quirked up in the corners. “Absolutely. Should I be jealous you tried to sneak in a visit with her before me?”

“Undoubtedly. She is a chief rival for my affections.” 

“God job she's asleep then,” Phryne whispered leaning closer until their lips were barely a breath apart.

“It might be nice to talk without interruption, finally,” he acquiesced.

“Oh, I’m sure there are better things we could be doing than talking, Jack.”

“Is that so?”

There was no need for an answer though as he closed the final distance between them, pressing his lips to hers with a gentle sort of passion that was as warm as it was undemanding, and left Phryne quite unexpectedly breathless when they parted again. 

They stood in silence for a moment, eyes locked, before Phryne pulled him back to her – arms snaking around his neck, fingers into his hair, claiming his mouth with hers without any of the restraint he had just shown. As much as his kiss had been a question, hers was an answer – a loud, resounding yes – and Jack responded without hesitation. The hand at her waist tightened its grip, backing her up against the piano before breaking their kiss, lips travelling instead to the hollow of her throat. 

Phryne gasped, eyes falling closed at the sensation, fingers tightening in his hair as Jack’s mouth moved, kissing and biting a trail from her clavicle back up to her ear. She turned her head to meet him, nipping at his bottom lip until he opened his mouth to her, and she revelled at the taste of him, at the hint of a whiskey which she couldn’t help but wonder if he had drunk for courage. 

Jack lowered his hands, brushing slowly down her sides until he reached her thighs, and then with little hesitation he lifted her, sitting her atop the piano without breaking their kiss – and Phryne moaned involuntarily in approval at this. In her new position she looped her leg behind him, dragging him in against her and brushing a thumb across his cheek. As she caught it on the scratch, though, he winced, and she pulled back quickly.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, “is it still sore?”

Jack shook his head, “Not like it was.”

Phryne frowned at him – eyeing the gash with scrutiny. She’d not actually been this close to him since it had happened (they had the cat to thank for that, as well), and now she really looked she could see how deep it was. 

“It’s likely going to scar,” Jack voiced her thoughts aloud. “I’m not sure that can be helped.”

Phryne reached out again, tracing the wound with a finger, not quite touching. “You don’t know,” she countered. “Mac has some marvellous concoctions to help with that – she’s cleaned me up many a time.”

He hesitated, looking back at her with a question he clearly didn’t want to voice sitting ready on his tongue. 

“Either way,” Phryne shrugged, “it doesn’t really matter. You might look quite roguish with a scar down your cheek, you know.”

Jack’s mouth quirked up ever so slightly at the corners and he leant in to kiss her again, sweeter than their last, if still hungry beneath. “So, the feline escapes with her life?”

Phryne paused for a moment; head tilted to one side as if considering. “This time,” she concluded, and Jack laughed.

Stillness descended on them for a moment, and in the silence Phryne took a deep breath – readying herself for what she wanted to say next. 

“Jack?” she asked, and he looked up at her with the smallest of questioning furrows in his brow, eyes soft. “What I said… to the cat, that is… did you know –  _ do _ you know? You know that I do, don’t you?”

She huffed at her own ineloquence, shutting her eyes for a moment and reopening them to meet his gaze – still there, still warm, and quietly amused. 

“What I mean is, you know that I – ”

There was an indignant meow from Jack’s feet, and suddenly Cleo had sprung from rug to piano, climbing onto Phryne’s lap and then turning promptly to Jack, butting her head against his stomach and purring insistently. 

The two of them stayed speechless for a moment, staring at the cat as she continued to attempt to garner Jack’s attention, and then Phryne looked up at him, gaze thunderous.

“That’s it,” she snapped in exasperation. “Jack, pass me the knife – I’m making gloves.”

Jack chuckled, scooping Cleo up and holding her to his chest. He looked from Phryne to the cat and back again, expression deadly serious save for the teasing sparkle in his eye.

“It’s alright, anything you have to say to me you can say in front of the cat.”

“I already said it to the cat,” Phryne huffed, unamused, and folded her arms across her chest petulantly. “I want to say it to  _ you _ , Jack.”

The teasing dropped from his expression, and he leant back in – cat cradled carefully against his chest – to kiss her chastely. “Well then I suppose you’ll just have to say it to both of us.”

Phryne ground her jaw, glaring daggers at Cleo before turning back to Jack and taking a steadying breath. “I love you,” she told him, the words coming as an exhale, half nervous and half relieved. “I love you far more than I think you realise.” 

Jack kissed her again, and she placed a hand on his cheek, keeping them close even once they'd parted, eyes a little lost in his. 

In Jack’s arms, the cat let out a plaintive meow, drawing their attention to her once

again. Jack looked back to Phryne, clearly amused, and tilted his head to one side in question. 

“And what about Cleopatra?” he asked, doing a marvellous job of keeping his tone serious. “Do you love her too?”

Phryne stared back at him, unamused. “That, Jack, is still very much up for debate.”


End file.
